S&H Blue Stamps
by M H E Priest
Summary: This is a collection of shorties, 1-2 per episode, that will be missing scenes or episode tags. The series' title is a play on S&H Green Stamps, trading stamps available for a few decades. S&H stood for Sperry & Hutchinson (for real). Of course, in this case, it stands for Starsky & Hutch, with Blue instead of green because of their eye color. Latest: The Bait
1. Pilot Episode: All Wet

**All Wet**

Missing scene from the Pilot

"Damn!" Starsky muttered. "My jeans shrunk."

"Maybe you gained weight," Hutch offered as an explanation. "You _are_ getting a little bit of a paunch." He patted his partner's belly.

Starsky glowered at him. "It's impossible to gain that much weight in a few minutes, dummy."

"Who's to say what's possible and impossible, Starsky. Why, not too long ago, people thought it was impossible to send a man into space. Now, men have been on the moon."

"So what about the possibility I'm growing scales and gills, huh? Between the steam bath, the rain, and the dip in the pool, I've been wet more'n dry for most of the day."

Hutch smiled at the opportunity to tease Starsky using his latest cockamamie statement. "Are you saying you're turning into a fish, Starsky? That's ridiculous. I told you not to watch that rerun of _Voyage to the Bottom of the Sea_ the other night. You have a hard enough time as it is separating fantasy from fact."

Starsky rolled his eyes. "Ha, ha, Hutch. Aren't we descended from fishes? Like that, uh, Dagwood fella claimed? And why can't we go back, hunh? I mean, there are people who can dive real deep without scuba gear. They're called …" He snapped his fingers while he hunted for the word. Finding it, his eyes gleamed. "Free divers. Yeah, that's it. Like pearl divers. Couldn't they be part fish already?"

Hutch sighed and said, "It's Darwin, dummy." He paused for a moment when he realized he was getting sucked into one of Starsky's convoluted "what-if" scenarios. He had to end this quickly or they'd be in the apartment complex's laundry room for hours.

"Okay, Starsky, let's say, for the sake of argument, you could turn into a fish. What type would you be?"

Starsky's brows knitted in thought briefly, then grinned. "Dolphin. They're terrific."

"Dolphins aren't fish, Starsky. They're mammals, like us."

"Kinda proves my point."

Unable to resist the lure of Starsky's unique logic, Hutch said, "I'm gonna regret this, but what point is that?"

"Fish and dolphins live in the sea. Some fishes went ambitious and came onto land -"

Hutch cut him off with a disdainful wave of his hand. "Don't you mean 'amphibious'?"

"Nope, I mean ambitious. It had to take some chutzpah to leave home and go exploring the possibilities on land."

Hutch sighed once more, kicking himself mentally for unsuccessfully nipping Starsky's bizarre twists of thought, even though it made him a good detective, in the bud already. "Fine. I concede the point. Go on."

"Okay." Starsky became increasingly animated. "So some fishes came on land, while others stayed in the ocean. Some of the home bodies became dolphins, 'cause they liked it there. No reason why humans can't go back home." He tucked his shirt in his jeans.

Hutch shrugged into his jacket. "Starsky, I swear you are the nuttiest fruitcake I know, and I know some of the nuttiest. Sometimes you drive me crazy with your, your … theories."

"Hey, partner, who's to say what's possible or impossible?" Starsky smirked, obviously enjoying throwing that quote back at Hutch.

Hutch pointed his index finger at Starsky. "Let's drop this now, or so help me ..." He let the threat dangle in the air between them.

Starsky wasn't quite ready to drop it. "You know what kinda fish you'd be, Hutch?" he asked as he seated his shoulder harness in place.

"No, I don't, and I don't wanna know," Hutch said, impatient anger starting to come through in his tone.

"Yeah, you do. You're the curious type. Makes you a good detective. Anyhow, you'd be a _carp_." Starsky, grinning impishly, patted Hutch's cheek several times. He left the laundry room at a near-run.

It took a couple of beats for Hutch to realize his partner had meant more than just fish. "You know something, Starsky, you're all wet!"

the end

July 2019

The VTTBOTS episode Hutch refers to is _The Amphibians_ from Season 1.


	2. Savage Sunday: Nor a Lender Be

**Nor a Lender Be**

Episode Tag for _Savage Sunday_

A/N: One possible scenario on how Starsky got one of his nicknames

"Mission accomplished," declared Starsky as he brushed his hands and surveyed the Eastside Home for the Aged dining room. Only he, Hutch, and the endearing, well-intentioned couple who had started a frantic search for a bomb remained. "All ready to get messed up again for dinner."

Hutch shook his head at Starsky's choice of words. "Hey, partner, I think it's time we hit the road, leave these good people to digest the delicious meal Huggy Bear provided."

"Excuse me, Detectives? May we have a word?" asked the elderly lady.

"Oh, Sarah, I don't think this is a good idea," her husband said softly but emphatically.

"Now, Henny, these officers have probably seen and heard everything under the sun. And this is something we both want, isn't it?"

Sheepishly, Henny nodded, but avoided eye contact with the four blue eyes studying them.

"Please, Sarah, continue," encouraged Hutch.

"Yeah, jus' say it. Me and Hutch'll do what we can for you."

Sarah glanced sideways at Henny before drawing a deep breath. "We have a favor to ask," she said, her voice shaky with disquiet. She paused.

"We're listening," said Hutch while Starsky close-lipped smiled and rocked back and forth on his feet.

"Uh, you see, Henny and I have always wanted to try … something, but we didn't know how to go about … finding what we needed. Well, since you're policemen, we were thinking maybe we could borrow ..." Sarah blushed, unable to complete the request.

"Our _guns_? You wanna borrow our _guns_?" asked Starsky.

Sarah and Henny shared a quick look. At her nod, Henny said, "No, no, not that, heaven forbid. We'd, uh, like to borrow your … handcuffs." The last word was barely audible. 

It was Starsky and Hutch's turn to exchange a look. Starsky shrugged.

"Ah, would you mind repeating that, Henny? My partner and I didn't hear you," said Hutch amiably.

Henny stood up straighter, mustering his courage. "Handcuffs, Detective. My wife and I would like to borrow your handcuffs. Just until tomorrow."

Sarah nodded vigorously.

Again, Hutch and Starsky looked at each other, expressions of gobsmacked amusement.

Starsky arched his bushy eyebrows. "Why don't you handle this one, partner?" he said smugly, trying to hold back his laughter.

"Gee, thanks, Starsk," Hutch responded irritably. He turned to face the couple. "Henny, Sarah, we'd like to loan you a set of 'cuffs, really we would, but we, uh, can't. They're property of the police department. You understand, don't you?" he asked sweetly, struggling to stay on an even keel.

The elderly couple's faces switched from hopeful to deflated. "We understand, Detective Hutchinson."

Starsky, unable to bear seeing their disappointment, chimed in, "Have ya thought about using neckties? It'd be easier on, you know, the anatomy." His reluctant smile telegraphed his discomfiture.

"Henny only has bow ties, Detective Starsky."

"And all of those are clip-ons," the old man added.

Starsky, lopsided grin firmly planted on his face, waved his hands around as he replied, "Well, you're smart. You'll figure something out. Won't they, Hutch?"

"Oh, yeah, they will. Sorry we couldn't help you out with … this, but if we think of anything, we'll get in touch, all right?"

Sarah patted Hutch's forearm several times. "Thank you, Detectives. We appreciate you taking our request in stride. Now, off with you. We've already taken too much of your precious time."

S&HBS

Hutch placed his hand on the roof of the Torino while Starsky unlocked the car.

"You know, Starsky, I can only hope at that age, I'd be willing to try something new."

"You mean there's stuff you haven't tried yet, o ye of little imagination and lots of chickenheartedness?"

Hutch sneered at his friend. "At least I don't have cheesy mirrors all around my bed."

"They're not cheesy. They're … conversation pieces."

"Is that what they are? I thought they were props for porno movies, Flesh Gordon."

Starsky scowled. "Get in the car, putz!"

the end

July 2019

_Flesh Gordon_ is a 1974 erotic film spoof of the Flash Gordon serials from the 1930s.


	3. Texas Longhorn: Not-So-Lady Vampire

**Not-So-Lady Vampire**

Tag to _Texas Longhorn_

Starsky and Hutch left the blood donation center quickly; they had their best lead yet on the alleged rapist/murderer.

"I swear, Hutch, she's a lady vampire," Starsky said excitedly as they approached the car.

"Yeah, I know. First you ever met. Does that mean you've met _male_ vampires?"

"Pretty sure. You know Snowball? He only comes out at night and he has those really pointy doggy teeth an' red eyes an' white hair, an' his skin -"

Hutch stopped in his tracks, which stopped Starsky's mouth. "Snowball's an albino, Starsk. It's dangerous for him to come out in the daylight. And there is no such thing as vampires."

Starsky shook his head in disagreement. "I don't know about that. I mean, we don't know everything there is to know."

Hutch pondered that statement for a moment. "That's true, buddy. There's still a lot to learn." He paused, gave Starsky a serious look. "Come to think of it, you could be right about vampires."

Starsky perked up. "Yeah?"

"Absolutely. Though I think that nurse was the _second_ lady vampire you've met."

Starsky bounced on the balls of his feet. "Who do you think it was, huh?"

Straight-faced and sincere, Hutch replied, "Vanessa."

Taken aback for a split second, Starsky shook his head again. "Nah. She's a bloodsucker all right, but she ain't no lady."

Hutch smiled gently, reassured yet again of his friend's loyalty and honesty. He exhaled audibly through his nose. "Now, _that_ fact belongs in an encyclopedia. Come on, let's call this number into the Detectives Bureau then go catch us a suspect."

the end

July 2019


	4. Death Ride: Trustworthy

**Trustworthy**

Missing scene from _Death Ride_

After leaving Dobey's office, the partners, in unspoken communication, immediately headed for the first available observation room.

Starsky paced back and forth rapidly, anger and frustration pouring off his body, his speed and feelings threatening to ignite the stagnant air in the room. Hutch wisely stood out his way, and rubbed the sides of his forehead with his thumb and middle finger.

It was several minutes before Hutch sighed loudly and said, "I still can't believe this. The DA didn't trust us. _Us!_ Hell, we won't even take a free cup of coffee on the streets."

Starsky, continuing his pacing but at a slightly slower rate, said, "I can't believe _Dobey_ didn't trust us. "Whadda we do if our own _cap'n_ doesn't trust us, hunh?" He smacked the palm of his hand on a wall before making a turn. "Don't he know we're trustworthy?"

Hutch snagged Starsky's forearm as he passed. "I think he does, but this time, he was caught between a rock and a hard place."

"More like a hard _ass_ of a DA. But what about us, Hutch? Two patsies who coulda _died, _thinkin' that we'd _failed_?"

Hutch tilted his head, lifted his eyebrows. "At least we would've died protecting a fellow cop."

Starsky deflated somewhat. "Yeah. That makes all this a little easier to take." He chuffed. "But _Dobey_. That's hard to take."

Hutch nodded. "It is. But we should cut him some slack on this. He cuts us more slack than we deserve at times."

A deep breath calmed Starsky down. "Okay, okay. So whadda we do _now_?"

Hutch smiled affectionately. "What we do every day, partner. Trust each other. Me and thee." He moved his hand from Starsky's arm to his chest, bringing it to rest over his heart.

Starsky grinned as he touched his forehead to Hutch's and placed his hand on the back of Hutch's neck. "Always."

the end

July 2019


	5. Snowstorm: Firestorm

**Firestorm**

Missing Scene for _Snowstorm_

Hutch smacked the bar top at Huggy Bear's hard with the flat of his hand, causing Starsky to jump.

"Hutch," Starsky said softly, calmly, hoping his partner's growing fury would settle down.

"Don't 'Hutch' me, Starsky. Our 'brother' cops are probably thieves _and _killers. I certainly can't live with that. Or not get madder than hell. What about you, Starsk?" he said, challenging Starsky with both his angry tone and eyes that could scorch anything that got too close.

Starsky stole a quick glance at Huggy, who was glaring at them for disturbing the peace. He tilted his head in an apology at the same time he took Hutch's elbow. "Come on, partner. Not so loud. We can talk about this some place a little more private, okay?"

Hutch's jaw muscles tightened and he shifted from one foot to the other repeatedly, like a live rocking horse ridden by an overly energetic kid. Yet he didn't pull away from Starsky's soft grip. After several long moments, he nodded, albeit reluctantly.

Starsky sighed his relief as he tugged Hutch into a nearby storeroom. They barely fit in the close quarters.

"Hey, buddy," Starsky started, who noted Hutch hadn't made eye contact since his first pronouncement about bad cops involved in this case. Undaunted, Starsky continued, "Look, Hutch, you're probably right. All th' arrows point to cops. But we can't go around bad-mouthin' our people in public. That ain't right, no matter how dirty they are."

Hutch exhaled audibly through his nose. "Yeah, you're right, Starsky. It just... _galls_ me to think any cop would be filth. And a _murderer_ to boot." His agitation began to climb again and he would've paced if he and Starsky weren't imitating tinned sardines.

"Me, too. It hurts a lot but we both know bad cops ain't nothing new. We jus' gotta be careful before accusing anybody of anything 'til we got some evidence."

Starsky's soothing voice had a negligible effect on Hutch's irritability. He looked Starsky square in the eyes, his own exuding fierce impatience. "Careful?" asked Hutch stridently. "Tell that to Crandall! You gotta know we _both_ suspect the same person, so screw that wait-and-see jive talk."

Starsky sagged against the shelf behind him. "No jive talk, Hutch."

"Then what's your goddamn problem?" Hutch ranted. "I thought you'd be ready to go berserk all over Corman's ass."

Now Starsky's temper ignited. He stood straight, body tense against Hutch's equally tense body. "Shut up, Hutch! No names. We don't know who can hear us. We need evidence first!"

Hutch stuck his index finger on Starsky's chest. "You better tell me why you're being so damn cautious. And I ain't buying it's about respecting our brother cops' rights." "Brother" was said with unmistakable disdain.

Starsky's nostrils flared. He said in a hushed, almost violent voice, "It's because-a Pop, okay? After he was shot down, his—_our_—own kind blabbed it all over Brooklyn that it was because he was on the take and wanted more. But he _wasn't_ on the take. Ma woulda left him. She wouldn't've stood for it for a New York minute." He drew in a ragged breath. "The investigation cleared him, but there was still doubt. Still is. Cops coverin' for one of their own."

Hutch slumped, the head of steam he had built up dissipating rapidly. He averted his eyes before enveloping Starsky's body, quaking from working so hard to hold back tears and rage, in his arms and resting his head on Starsky's shoulder. "I'm sorry, buddy," he whispered in his best friend's ear.

It took Starsky several deep breaths to get to the point where he could talk. "'Sokay, Hutch. You didn't know that part of the story."

Hutch gave him a gentle squeeze before releasing him. "Shall we go gather that evidence then bring it to Dobey?"

Starsky patted Hutch's cheek and smiled. "Better evidence than rosebuds."

Before Hutch could react, there was a loud knock on the door. "Hey, you two _gluttonious_ personages better not be eatin' up my inventory."

The partners looked at each other then laughed silently.

"Starsky's the only glutton in here, Hug. And, just so you know, gluttonious is not a word."

Starsky crushed the snicker that threatened to erupt; instead, he gave Hutch a grin.

"It is _now_. Just vamoose so I can get what I need to feed my hungry customers, ya dig?" Huggy opened the door to find his friends staring at him, looking like two cats who just ate an aria of canaries. "Will you get out?"

"Oh, sure, Huggy," Hutch said pleasantly. He brushed past the tall, thin man, nodded his head, smiled sweetly.

Starsky was right on Hutch's heels but stopped then patted Huggy's shoulder. "Just a sec." He went back into the storeroom and snatched a large bag of pretzels. As he passed his childhood friend, Starsky said, "Put it on Hutch's tab."

the end

July 2019


	6. The Fix: The Fixer

**The Fixer**

Missing Scene and Tag to _The Fix_

"You can do this, Starsky. You're the best there is outside the pros."

Starsky looked away from the intense confidence in Huggy's brown eyes. "I don't know, Hug. I mean, we're talkin' about _Hutch_ here. Maybe I shoulda taken him to a hospital. I can't afford to mess up like I did with..." The memory of Lenny stole his voice, gnawed away at his soul.

Huggy grunted. "You didn't stand a chance with him. He was beyond desperate, my brotha."

Suddenly experiencing a phantom ache in the seven-year-old wound, Starsky shook his head. "It was my fault, Hug. I didn't check him close enough for weapons. We were in-country, for Pete's sake. We _all_ carried a lot."

"So you lost one. Out of how many you saved?"

Starsky moved his head in a circle then let his eyes come to rest on Huggy's. "That's not the point. The point is I lost Lenny. And I can_not_ make that mistake again." _'Cause if I lose Hutch,_ _I'm lost, too_.

Huggy Bear gripped Starsky's upper arms in his hands. "You doin' the right thing, Starsky. And you _will_ be successful. Or I'll kick your honky rump to the neighborhood dump."

Despite his doubt and sense of impending disaster, Starsky executed a half-smile. "When you're right, you're right, Huggy."

"Hey, the Bear is always right, ya dig? Now I'm off to get you the usual supplies. Unless your recipe has changed?"

"No cola. He hates that. Just coffee and lotsa sugar."

"Speaking of that beverage, while I'm gone, make yourself useful for once and mop up that spill before it stains my floor."

This time, Starsky's smile showed his teeth. When Huggy released him, they performed their childhood gang's secret handshake.

A feeble croak of "Starsky?" had them turning their heads toward the suffering man in the bed. Starsky was at the bedside before Hutch could draw his next breath.

Starsky's stomach churned when he saw Hutch, still curled in on himself, hugging his belly, fluttering like a leaf in a hurricane. He wanted to cover his ears when he heard his usually articulate partner muttering nonsense syllables.

Starsky tamed his overwhelming need to rail at this unconscionable situation for Hutch, search for and retaliate against whoever did this to his best friend. Instead, he put that aside, more easily than he thought possible. Hutch was the priority. Always the priority. He hesitated for only a moment to gather the strength to at least exhibit the pretense of control of this situation and of his own terror and fear.

"I'm here, buddy," Starsky said softly with a reassurance he didn't truly feel as he climbed back into bed. "I gotcha. Not goin' nowhere. Not gonna let anything bad happen to you, understand?"

S&HBS

From his vantage point in a booth at Huggy Bear's, Hutch watched Starsky and Huggy chatting with Diane, the new barmaid. Starsky seemed tired but upbeat, right at home with Huggy's hand hanging off his shoulder.

Hutch smiled at the camaraderie. Starsky and the Bear had been close for twenty years. He felt privileged that Starsky had introduced them and that Huggy had accepted him as a friend and eventually a brother.

And thanks to the two of them, Hutch had made it through withdrawal. There was not enough thanks in the world to give them.

Especially Starsky, who had taken the brunt of his angry, desperate need.

Calling him a stupid son of a bitch, a major fuck-up, an uncaring human being. Coming very close to slamming Starsky's head against the wall more than once so he could escape. Taunting him with promises of more nose-burning, gag-inducing malodorous diarrhea if Starsky didn't help him. Pleading for a just a taste, a tiny fix. Sweating through his and Starsky's clothes as Starsky held him and rubbed his neck, arms, trunk, and hips to override the sensation of drug-dream ants gnawing their way to his muscles and bones.

And the _pi__è__ce de r__é__sistance _meant strictly to manipulate Starsky's tendency to bow to his wishes: _I wanna be__ like the Angel. __So happy, carefree. Nobody wantin__g__ anything from me. No pain, Starsky. Just, you know... happy. __Don't you want me to be happy?_

To which Starsky had responded with a squeeze so tight that Hutch thought his brain would eject from his skull: _Not gonna happen, Hutch, not ever. I'm not gonna let it happen, even if it kills us both._

Hutch shivered at the memory. He wanted to forget it, not only this one but the entire experience, especially how poorly he treated his best friend, yet he knew he couldn't and wouldn't. It was proof how strong each of them were together, neither one letting himself or the other give in or give up.

Hutch felt a pulse of hope thrum through him. He knew then he'd stay clean because he wasn't in this fight alone.

oOo

Huggy Bear and Starsky joined Hutch. "Almost forgot, Starsky. I acquired clean apparel from your humble abode while you and Goldilocks were out gallivanting around this afternoon making the streets safe for peace-lovin' citizens like me. They're upstairs."

"Thanks, Huggy," said Starsky. "I'll only be a few minutes. Unless there's plenty of hot water and I take a longer shower. How about a Starsky special? And a root beer this time."

"Your order is my command, m'man. Hutch, how's about some soup? Today, the pot is filled with homemade barley vegetable. Sourdough bread fresh today from Bayard's Bakery. Right up your alley."

Hutch smiled wanly and nodded once. "Sounds good, Hug."

"Thanks, Huggy." Starsky left for the upstairs room.

Huggy turned to leave but a hand on his arm stopped him. "Got somethin' on your mind, Hutch?"

"As a matter of fact, I do." Hutch paused. To Huggy's mind, Hutch seemed to be grappling with finding the right words—or maybe just trying to speak at all, given how exhausted and weak he still was.

"Uh, how did Starsky know what to do?"

Huggy slid onto the bench opposite Hutch. "He never tol' you?" At Hutch's head shake, Huggy continued, "Figures. Our friend is rather tight-lipped about this unusual talent of his. Before I tell you anything, you have to promise to keep this strictly between me and you."

Hutch blinked slowly as he gave a peculiar hand gesture Huggy had never seen before. "Sea scout's honor, Huggy."

"Okay then. Back when we was in high school, we was in a salt-n-pepper 'club.' Only one in Bay City to my knowledge. We got into some minor troubles, nothin' big, until a _horse_ trader got a few kids in our club and more than a few in other clubs strung out. Me and Starsky—we was about fifteen then—wouldn't touch that shit. Well, long story short, Puny Petey, a _compadre_ of ours, got hooked. Good thing me and Starsky found him jonesin' under the football field bleachers."

"That must have been... frightening."

Huggy huffed. "Truth. Anyway, we wasn't about to call the cops or an ambulance. So Starsky had this brilliant idea to ask the school nurse what to do. He made me stay with Petey while he ran off. He fed her some cock-n-bull story about how he was curious what to do to get somebody through withdrawal."

"That was ballsy."

"Well, you know Starsky. He got in line at twice more when they was handing them out. And even then, he could charm the ladies outta something they might not want to give, then have them thinkin' it was their idea."

Hutch laughed, a beautiful sound to Huggy's ears, even though it sounded a bit raw. "Somehow, I'm not surprised."

"So he comes runnin' back after what seemed like a lifetime to me and the end of Petey's life. All his pockets were filled with candy bars. Said he left old man Davis, the proprietor of the local grocery store, an IOU."

"So he stole."

Hutch's expression told Huggy that Starsky as a shoplifter rankled him. "Like I said, minor troubles. He did go back later, confessed to the theft, and worked off the debt."

"Thanks to John Blaine's guidance, I'm sure."

Huggy nodded. "Thanks to Blaine, I learned to trust cops. Anyway, Davis was so impressed with Starsky, he gave him fifty bucks after the debt was paid. Starsky kept it in his piggy bank and used it when he needed lots of candy and Coca-Cola."

"So there were more"-Hutch shuddered-"kids like Petey?"

Huggy shrugged. He let the sadness he felt color his face and words. "Too many. And so many of them repeated. Petey got clean, and he spread the word how me and Starsky saved him. It was really all Starsky. He even had an alias: The Fixer. I was there for moral support and candy and cola runs. We kep' it all on the down-low. Like these last couple days."

Hutch looked away. Huggy figured he was probably digesting what he'd just heard. This new info about Starsky no doubt floored him. Huggy stayed quiet, patiently waiting for Hutch to speak. When he finally did, Huggy read pride in his friend's eyes.

"What was his success rate?"

"One hundred percent. Until 'Nam. His _capit__á__n_ found out about a couple junkies he got off the horse, and he sent Starsky other junkies to get clean. Became The Fixer there, too. Lost one. Temporarily put Starsky outta commission and ran into a minefield, takin' a shortcut to his supplier."

Hutch shook his head as he looked at his hands. "Christ. That had to have torn Starsky up."

"You got that right. Lenny was his last. By the time our boy got out of therapy for his leg—"

Hutch perked up. The crease between his eyebrows deepened. "The scar on his left thigh?"

Huggy nodded. "His second Purple Heart. Said captain fudged the facts."

Showing his surprise at that gem, Hutch said, "I didn't even know he had a first."

Huggy shrugged. "Starsky ain't no different from other vets when it comes to talkin' about the war."

"So how do you know all this?"

Huggy heard a little bit of temper and maybe some envy in Hutch's tone. He shifted on his seat to lean in closer to his friend. "He was staying with me when he got back. He had nightmares. Lots of 'em. Only told me about one—Lenny—when I threatened to kick him out if he didn't talk to me. After that, he settled down a little every day."

"Thanks for being there for him, Hug." Hutch then fell into a contemplative silence, which Huggy wasn't about to disturb, especially with a damp-haired Starsky bouncing toward the booth.

"Hey, Starsky," Huggy said, jerking Hutch out of his thoughts, "leave any hot water for dish washing?"

"You mean this dive actually washes the dishes?"

Huggy gave Starsky a twisted, sour look. "I ain't stayin' where I'm not respected. Hutch, he's all yours. And good luck." He took his time scooting out of the booth, knowing Starsky would seat himself next to Hutch even when the opposite bench was open. He raised his eyebrows when he saw Starsky give Hutch a questioning look that wasn't quite successful in hiding—thanks to their long history—the pride and adoration that were there as well. A glance at Hutch told him why; he read that same pride plus gratitude and affection on Hutch's features. On second thought, he corrected himself: _That's love_.

As expected, Starsky sat next to his partner. Huggy knew, without seeing, that their thighs were touching.

"What's up, buddy?" asked Starsky, taking a moment to finger-comb Hutch's mussed-up hair. "Why're you lookin' at me like that?"

Hutch laughed gently. "Like what?"

Starsky snorted lightly. "So, don't tell me. Too tired to drag it outta ya." He turned his attention to Huggy, who lingered at the table's edge. "I'm _starvin'_, Hug. Where's my chow, or do I need to scope out the competition?"

Huggy rolled his eyes. "One of these days, Starsky, I'll take you to the competition myself, if you keep disparaging my classy eatery. That's _my_ purview." As he turned away, he caught Hutch smiling and saying something to Starsky then bumping Starsky's shoulder with his. Laughing at whatever was said, Starsky put his arm around Hutch's shoulders in a way that Huggy could only describe as proprietary.

_Now that is a singular__and __righteous __love_, Huggy thought. _Wonder when they'll finally __ice__ that cake._

the end

July 2019


	7. Death Notice: Nice World

**Nice World**

Missing Scene and Tag for _Death Notice_

Hutch was regretting asking Starsky to agree to throwing a party to celebrate with Huggy and the new friends they'd made after closing their latest homicide case. What was happening in the main room of his cottage was the opposite of "party." _More like an interment_, he thought.

A few words in a heavy Hungarian accent dragged Hutch out of his head. "Sorry, Anton. My mind wandered. Could you repeat that?"

Anton nodded. "I am almost ready to put the, the, um, final touches upon the stew. Are _you_ ready, Hutch?"

Hutch thinned his lips into a partial smile. He really did want to learn how to make the delectable-smelling dish, yet in the last few minutes, his mind had switched back to the failing "celebration." "Yeah, yeah, sure. I'm listening." He gave Anton an eager nod.

A split second later, he was remembering Ginger's apartment, which he and a still-dripping Starsky had searched for any clues that might reveal the killer or a motive. Both knew they'd likely find nothing related to the murder, and they were right. Instead, they had found out about the stripper.

ooOOoo

Everything was in vibrant colors, and that included the Andy Warhol and Roy Lichtenstein posters on the walls. All the furniture appeared to be second-hand but in good condition. Books and framed photographs jammed the cinder-block-and-particle-board shelves. Ginger's place was definitely a home. Starsky's "Nice world, huh?" that had been laced with pessimism and sarcasm when Hutch had told him about the cause of death reintroduced itself into Hutch's consciousness and played like a stuck record.

After flipping through a couple of magazines on the side table, Hutch joined Starsky at the shelving. "Whatcha looking at, Starsk?" He allowed a touch of gloom to infect his question, knew that Starsky felt the same just by his tight back, arms across his chest, bowed head. Hutch rested his chin lightly on Starsky's shoulder close enough for them to be cheek to cheek and hooked his hand on Starsky's other shoulder.

Starsky sighed and patted Hutch's hand a few times. "Pictures. Nice-lookin' people."

"That one in the middle, second row. Gotta be family."

"Yeah, they do look alike." From the movement of Starsky's face, Hutch knew Starsky's mouth had quirked up. "Back home, we called folks from the south 'cornpone people,' with their funny accents-"

"That's calling the kettle black," Hutch interjected. "And don't say anything like that around Sweet Alice."

Starsky snickered before continuing, "-and their wide-eyed wonder of big-city life. Look where it got her."

They were silent for few minutes, each lost in his own thoughts, until Hutch let out a loud exhale filled with the funk he was feeling and sharing with Starsky about Ginger's death.

"Ginger was a really nice girl."

Starsky nodded. "A real sweetheart. She didn't deserve to be in a world like this, like we live in."

Hutch rubbed Starsky's back. "Nobody does, partner. Come on, let's wait for the crime scene guys outside. Maybe they'll let you have one of their towels so you can at least dry your gun."

ooOOoo

Searching Sonja's place after her murder had only deepened their funk. Though the partners grieved every victim's death, Ginger and Sonja's deaths had thrown them for a loop for some reason they hadn't—or couldn't—voice yet. Regardless, they had to get past it, or their reaction could set a dangerous precedence and shortening their careers—or maybe their lives. Too many cops already ate bullets.

_Gotta do something about this... party and especially me and Starsky. But what?_

Hutch laughed through his nose softly when he realized how simple that "something" was.

"Anton, can you fill me in on the rest later? There's _something_ I have to do."

The immigrant showed his crooked teeth in a happy smile. "Of course!"

Hutch nodded his thanks and headed for the main room. The atmosphere there was so dismal that it threatened to bring him down further.

He immediately caught Starsky's eyes, lifted an eyebrow a few millimeters. The tiny tilt forward told him message received.

"'Scuse me, Manny. Hutch needs me." Starsky patted the arm of the much taller man and walked toward Hutch.

Hutch sucked in his lips, an old childhood habit, now rarely used, that signaled analysis mode. Right now, Starsky's walk was subdued, lacking its distinctive spring, and his demeanor screamed melancholy and a little detachment—at least to Hutch and probably Huggy Bear.

"What's up, partner?"

Hutch nodded a few times, hoping that would guarantee Starsky would agree to execute his plan, as he said, "I feel like singing a few songs and playing the guitar. You up for joining me?"

Starsky's brow crinkled. "Are you okay? I mean, there are _people_ here."

Hutch chuckled. "Aren't you the one always pushing me to play at clubs on open-mic nights?"

"Yeah, well..."

"I can do this with _you_. Baby step"—he pointed to himself—"training wheels"—he pointed to Starsky. Then Hutch fixed him with a pleading puppy-dog look.

Starsky shrugged. "I thought mixin' metaphors was my job." A brief hesitation, then a tepid "Okay."

A few minutes later, Hutch's guitar was tuned and he was sitting on the arm of a chair. Starsky had planted himself on the sofa.

"Huggy, do me a favor, would you?" Hutch asked. "Turn off the radio?"

"If it means I get to hear you play and sing, consider it done." He stopped just as he was about to twist the knob. "Does this mean Starsky is gonna sing, too?"

Hutch nodded with enthusiasm; Starsky lifted one shoulder and one side of his mouth.

"Well," Huggy continued, "I won't let that fact stop this little impromptu concerto." He snapped the radio off and turned to Hutch. "Maestro, the airwaves are yours."

"Thanks, Hug." He arched his eyebrows at Starsky as he strummed the first few chords of their favorite song to sing together.

Starsky grinned, wider than he had in days, much to Hutch's relief and joy.

By the time they were into the second boisterous chorus of _Black Bean Soup_, their guests were smiling and laughing and dancing, just like Starsky's eyes.

Hutch was pretty sure his eyes were mirroring his best friend's.

S&HBS

After drinking to Anton's beautiful and heartfelt toast, Hutch leaned into Starsky and whispered with genuine optimism, in his ear, "Nice world, huh?"

Starsky replied with a brighter smile.

the end

August 2019


	8. Pariah: For Better or Worse

**For Better or Worse**

Missing Scene for _Pariah_

"Starsk, when was the last time you ate anything?"

Starsky sighed, still avoiding eye contact with Hutch. "Don't know. Not important."

Hutch, having angled himself halfway across the front seat of the Torino, blew out a breath of frustration strong enough to ruffle Starsky's hair. "Listen, partner. I know Tinker and Forest's deaths are weighing heavily on your good heart—and mine, too, and every other cop in this city—but it's not your fault. Besides, I need you at your best. And for you, that includes calories. Lots of 'em. Now, whatta ya say we go to Huggy's?"

Starsky knew exactly what Hutch was trying to do: get him out of his own head, replace, at least temporarily, his grief and guilt with food and the companionship of his best friend and his oldest friend. _Ain't gonna work._ He shook his head.

"Okay, not Huggy's. How about that place on Broadway you mentioned a little while back? The one you said had chili hot enough to make your ears smoke."

_So you can ditch me again?_ He laughed to himself when he realized they were together in the same car this time. "Not hungry, Hutch. 'Sides, not up to conversation either. I just wanna go home." He finally looked at Hutch, nothing but empathy in his brilliant and sad blue eyes. "_Alone_." He knew his face showed how dispirited, how impotent, he felt, and that it must be hurting Hutch to see him that way because of the connection they shared.

On a dime, Hutch, wielding that right index finger of his like a scepter, changed from supportive to almost royally imperious. "Snap out of it, Starsky. You have to stop blaming yourself. Whoever's doing this, this terrible thing is a nut job of the first degree and you were just unlucky to become the focus of his, I don't know, delusions."

Starsky opened his mouth to respond, but Hutch glared at him, wordlessly telling him to shut up and listen.

"You need to eat, Starsky. You can barely walk straight. How are you supposed to watch my back out here if you don't have the energy to even draw your weapon, huh?"

The anger that had been smoldering in his belly at the perverted psycho and his heartless, misplaced rage flared up like a backdraft. "Then get the hell away from me, okay?" he shouted.

"_What?_" Starsky heard incredulity and anguish in that single word. At that moment, he despised himself. And he had also finally identified that one thing that had been eating away at him quietly yet persistently, like a slow acid burning through his soul.

Starsky exhaled loudly. "You heard me. Leave."

Hutch sat up, determination and irritation all over his face. "No," he said, reminding Starsky of a two-year-old Nicky refusing to give up a chocolate chip cookie he'd swiped from his big brother.

"You have to, Hutch." Starsky closed his eyes at the whine in his voice. _Talk about the __pot calling the kettle..._

"I don't _have_ to do anything but pay taxes and die."

Starsky, suddenly riled by Hutch's simple statement of fact, pounded the steering wheel with both hands several times before gripping it tightly, instantly blanching his fingers. In his peripheral vision, he saw Hutch cross his arms over his chest. As for his own chest, it felt as if a vise was constricting it.

It took Starsky a full two minutes before he could speak, and even then it was the opposite of calm. "Don't _say_ that! Don't _ever_ say that!"

"Say what, Starsk?" he said, the opposite of stormy.

Starsky had to drag in a breath against the force of his fear. Not looking at his partner, his best friend, he mumbled, barely loud enough for Hutch to hear, "Die, Hutch. Don't say it, 'kay?"

Now chancing a direct look at Hutch, Starsky was relieved to see he had softened a bit, his face broadcasting understanding.

When Hutch said nothing after a long moment, Starsky continued. "You need to leave me, Hutch, 'cause I'm... radioactive. Lethal to anyone in this city. I'm afraid..." He trailed off, unable to issue sound around the massive obstruction that had suddenly blossomed in his throat.

There was a brief silence before Hutch, his steady hand now on Starsky's trembling thigh, finished for him. "...that I'm on the maniac's hit list. And if we're not together, maybe he won't target me, because he thinks that breaking us apart would hurt you more than blowing me away."

Starsky dropped his head forward, closed his eyes, cleared his throat to melt the clog. "And I thought I was the brains of this outfit," he said with a shaky touch of levity he didn't really feel.

Hutch squeezed Starsky's thigh. "Starsk, look at me."

Starsky shook his head, afraid of what he'd do when he saw his partner's trusting face, feel his faith in him. Afraid of losing it just from the thought of losing him to this twisted bastard—all because of him.

"Please?"

Against his better judgment, Starsky acquiesced. The trust and the faith were there, but so was the love. Somehow, he kept it together, tried to make his expression neutral but knowing it showed his vulnerability instead.

"Starsky, do you remember what you said on the first day of our new partnership when we were celebrating that night at Huggy's?"

"Course I do, Hutch. I told you what Pop told me when I was nine."

"I remember, too. That a great and lasting partnership was like a marriage, that your partner was just as important, if not more so, than your wife. _Real_ partners become friends and brothers." Hutch's eyes started to glisten.

_Oh damn. If he starts cryin', I'll start bawlin'._ "And then I suggested we take partnership vows." He had made them up on the spot, still knew exactly what he said. "'We hold these truths to be self-evident. That we take each other as partners forever, to protect each other from thugs and whippos and sanctimonious IA jerks, always there for each other, for better or worse, in sickness, health, or injury, even when one of us is acting irrational or stupid.'" He paused, wondered if this could be considered a pregnant one. "Most important day of my life."

"For me, too. I repeated them, though not word for word. I also recall being surprised you knew the word sanctimonious and had used it correctly."

Starsky gave him an affectionate sneer. "Yeah, well, you were a little tipsy."

"We both were. But we meant it. I still do. Do you, partner?" Hutch put a slight emphasis on the last word.

Hutch's eyes told Starsky he knew what the answer would be, but needed to hear it. That Starsky needed to hear it, too.

Starsky smiled his love and cupped his hand around the back of Hutch's neck. "Me 'n' thee, partner."

the end

August 2019


	9. Kill Huggy Bear: Surviving Stupid

**Surviving Stupid**

"Well, the take was maybe a hundred thousand. With that kinda money, a guy's brains can go out to lunch."

"Aw, come on, Starsk, we're talkin' about Huggy."

Starsky's weird sound of agreement with Hutch quietly infuriated him. But the stubborn, closed look on Starsky's face told Hutch he'd never find out why his partner would think his childhood friend's brains had left the building.

_1958_

Huggy Bear, shifting nervously from one foot to the other, knocked on the front door of the Goreckis' modest bungalow, not far from the projects where he and his large, extended family lived.

The door opened to reveal a short, round-bodied woman who favored Starsky enough for anyone to know they were blood.

The woman gave him a sunny smile. "Why, Lincoln! It's so good to see you."

Huggy hid his grimace at the use of his given name. "Uh, you, too, Mrs. Gorecki. Starsky here?"

"Right to the point today, I see. Yes, he's here. We picked him up from the bus station early this morning. I think he's taking a nap before I serve lunch. Cross-country on a bus is not the easiest thing to do." She smiled at him again. "Will you join us?"

Even knowing Starsky's Aunt Rose could make water taste bad, he was hungry enough to accept the invitation.

"Good!" Before she could let him in the house, David was at her back. Somehow, he'd raced from his tiny room off the kitchen to the front door without a sound. Huggy laughed when he saw the curly-headed boy peering at him over his aunt's shoulder.

"Hey, Hug!" He danced around Rose and joined his friend on the small porch. They embraced briefly before parting and laughing their happiness at being together again.

"Davey! Please call your friend by his rightful name. And you, Lincoln -"

Starsky cut her off with, "Huggy Bear."

Rose arched an eyebrow and drew her lips into a thin line that promised her nephew that he couldn't ride his bike for a week. "Lincoln," she said, stressing the name, "you should call him David or Davey."

"Aw, Aunt Rose, everybody's gotta nickname or their last name's used, like me. 'Sides, Davey's a kid's name."

"You're fifteen, David. Still a boy."

Starsky rolled his eyes. "Am not. I had my bar mitzvah two years ago."

Rose tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear then smoothed her apron. "Well, then, stop acting like a child." She gave him a teasing look that took the sting from her words. "Why don't you boys catch up while I finish preparing lunch?"

"Okay, Aunt Rose." Two seconds later, they were sitting side by side on the curb, away from the prying ears of a Jewish surrogate-mother.

"So how was New Yawk, Starsky? Have fun at home with all your old buddies?"

Starsky became pensive. "Don't feel like home any more, Huggy," he admitted. "I been here only two years, except for the three weeks each summer I spend with Ma and Nicky, but this feels more like home than Brooklyn ever did in some ways."

"That's a good thing, ain't it?"

Starsky lightened up. "Guess so." Then he turned solemn. "The bus tickets cost a lot, and I know Ma can't really afford it. While I was there, we hardly had any meat. And she's growin' a lot of her own vegetables now."

Huggy sighed with resignation. "Times be tough for all us po' folks." _More so for __mine__, with so many mouths to feed_.

"Yeah. I hate bein' hungry alla time. And I forgot what chocolate tastes like."

"Starsky, my brother, we need to find us a gig where we can make some moola so we can indulge in the finer things in life, like chocolate for you and meat for me."

"I hear ya. Anything happen while I was gone?"

Huggy shrugged. "If you call a rumble on the east side between three gangs anything. Some guy from the River Rats you don't know saved my life. We coulda used you, Starsky, with you knowin' all those fightin' moves that cop taught you."

They jumped when a booming voice from a well-dressed black man they hadn't noticed come up behind them say, "I couldn't help overhearing your conversation, gentlemen."

Starsky and Huggy looked at each other with surprise. No one had ever called them "gentlemen."

"If you're willing, I've got some work you can do for me. Easy money, too."

Huggy snorted. "Money ain't nevah easy."

"Oh, but for you boys, it would be." His pitch reminded Starsky of one of those slick carnies at Coney Island, trying to get you to waste your few coins on games that were virtually impossible to win. "You're exactly what my customers are looking for."

"And what would that be, mistah?" Starsky said, his accent growing thicker under the bad vibes from this stranger.

"Two very attractive young men, just coming into prime manhood, with so much to offer."

Both boys were beginning to feel uncomfortable, yet were reluctant to dismiss the man outright. After all, they were starving and willing to do anything to alleviate that emptiness.

"We ain't got nothin' to offer, 'cept maybe strong arms and backs. Ain't that right, Starsky?"

"Right, Hug. We'll work hard, paintin' houses, mowin' lawns, whatever."

The stranger threw his head back and emitted a laugh from deep within his chest. "You boys are too _fine_ for manual labor. I'm thinking you'd do the 'whatever.'"

Again Starsky and Huggy looked at each other, but this time with puzzlement.

"Looky here, boys. All you have to do is enjoy the company of someone willing to pay for it and do whatever he says. I get some of that money, and you get the rest. Simple and easy."

Their discomfort increased, but so did their hunger.

"Ya know, Starsky, I sure could use that money. My family wouldn't have to go hungry every night. I could feed 'em. Nothin's as good as a full belly, and one of these days, I'd like to make that happen for _anybody_ who needs grub."

Starsky smirked, not quite agreeing with Huggy that a full belly was the greatest thing going; he knew of a contender for that title. He'd learned that last summer—and relearned that and more this summer—from the slightly older Meryl O'Neill with curly strawberry-blonde hair.

Then it hit him—what this man wanted them to do. He gulped, tried not to show his anger and fear, tried not run and leave Huggy stranded with this creep. "Lookit, mistah -"

"Call me Bosco, like the delicious chocolate syrup that has the same shiny color as my beautiful skin."

Starsky was ready to say an emphatic and resounding _No_, but a more desperate Huggy was sliding into a _Yes_. He understood that, because Huggy went hungry a lot more than he did. He elbowed his friend, easily feeling the ribs, and said in an anxious whisper, "You _do_ know what he's talkin' about, don'cha? Don't be stupid!"

"I ain't stupid, Starsky. I'm _hongry_."

Unbeknownst to them, someone had been watching the little gathering in front of the Gorecki place. He left his house and strode to the three people.

Starsky noticed his neighbor, wearing his cop uniform, first. "Mr. Blaine!"

"Glad you've back, David," he said, even while his eyes were on the adult. "So, Leroy, you're recruiting in this neighborhood now?"

"Hey, Officer, I was just passing the time of day with these sweet young men. No harm done."

"And there won't be. Go back to Mandalay Heights. You're not welcome here. And if I see you in this area again, I'll arrest you for loitering and anything else I can think of."

"Okay, okay," Bosco said, holding his hands up in surrender. He turned back to Starsky and Huggy. "Gentlemen, it's been a pleasure." He saluted with two fingers before sauntering off.

Blaine placed his hands on his hips. "If this... _Bosco_ tries to talk to you again, run away and head for the nearest adult you trust. He wants you to do things that should only be between consenting adults. He's dangerous and not beyond snatching you off the street."

"Yes, sir," they said in unison.

"David, Huggy, you weren't about to agree to work for him, were you?"

Both boys hung their heads. Starsky spoke first.

"I was tempted, sir, because it sure would be nice to have a sandwich or taco any time I wanted, 'cause I'm always starvin', but I figured out what he was wantin' us to do."

"'Shamed to say I was gonna say yes, Officer. I'd do just about anything to help put food on my family's table."

Blaine exhaled harshly and clenched his fists. "Remember, boys, hunger, and a lot of other things, can make you stupid. All I'm asking is that you think before jumping into something you have the slightest doubt about."

Again, they chorused a "Yes, sir." They looked up at the cop.

"Have you boys had lunch yet?"

Starsky shook his head and said, "Nah. Aunt Rose is fixin' it, though."

"My wife is doing some baking for the church bazaar. After you finish lunch, go see her and tell her I sent you for a dozen cookies each."

Starsky's eyes widened. "Chocolate?"

"I think so. Definitely peanut butter."

_1975_

In the car driving away from Huggy's bar, silence reigned until Hutch couldn't take Starsky's sober mood any longer.

"Starsky, you must have a reason why you think it's possible for Huggy to have absconded with the cash."

"It's history, Hutch. Water under the bridge and out to sea."

"If it made such an impact, don't you think I deserve to know? After all, he's my friend, too."

Starsky licked his lips. "Okay, I'll sum it up for you. There's a lot of things that can make you stupid. Now, how about a quick bite to eat? I'm hungry."

Hutch shook his head. "You're perpetually hungry, Starsky. That must be one of the many things that make you stupid."

Starsky smiled and shrugged off what was probably meant as a dig since he wouldn't reveal this little piece of his history with Huggy. "You could say that."

the end

August 2019


	10. The Bait: Necklaces, Flowers, & Doubt

**Necklaces, Flowers, & Doubt **

Pre-opening Scene for _The Bait_

"I see Huggy took you shopping at the Pimps' Rejects Store. Got enough necklaces there, Starsk?" Hutch asked as his partner preened in front of the mirror, clearly admiring the image of sleek, shiny silver against coarse, dark hair and a slick suit and shirt made out of fabric not found in nature.

"You think I got too many? Or not enough. Huggy said three is lucky, and I figure we need all the luck we can get in this undercover gig. You know, like the three little pigs, the Holy Trinidad -"

Not able to stop himself from correcting Starsky, Hutch said, "Trinity, Starsky."

"Oh, yeah. Then there's the Three Musketeers, the Three Stooges, the three little kittens who lost their mittens -"

"That's not exactly lucky. How about a hat trick?" supplied Hutch.

"Good one, Blondie. Leave it to a Minnesotan to think of hockey." Starsky fiddled with a button on his shirt. "Think I got enough buttons open?"

Hutch rolled his eyes in amusement at Starsky's serious question. "Babe, if you unbuttoned any more, we'd be seeing the button Mother Nature gave you."

Starsky sighed in agreement. "Best not overdo it."

Hutch chuckled silently at the use of "overdo," which is exactly what happened with his new wardrobe. What self-respecting drug dealer from Texas would wear multi-colored, horizontal-striped shirts and bedazzled jackets? He looked more like an updated version of Voight's _Midnight Cowboy_ hustler than a drug dealer on the fast track. Again he chastised himself for not insisting he go shopping with Huggy for the clothes and jewelry and forcing Starsky to take care of acquiring the "rides"—meaning car, boots, and shoes. Especially since he knew Huggy was sure to choose rather garish cowboy duds. But a bet was a bet, and he'd lost the coin toss. At least Starsky fit his chosen undercover persona of a Brooklyn dealer.

Hutch repositioned himself to stand closely behind Starsky.

"Hey, lookit me! I got two heads!" exclaimed Starsky.

"You know what they say—two heads are better than -"

"Three," interrupted Starsky, a smug, lopsided grin on his face.

After a moment, Hutch answered with a nod. "That's true. One head would go hungry because there'd be only two hands to feed 'em."

"That's some good thinking there, buddy. Maybe you're not as dense as Luke told me you were when we first partnered." Starsky's grin morphed to one that could be described as a smug cat.

Hutch pulled a face before reaching around Starsky to monkey with the twisted piece of silver dangling at his abdomen. "It's no mystery why you chose a talisman. It's supposed to ward off bad luck."

"You're a regular font of facts, ya know, Hutch? Did you know it has a couple names?"

"I know one. Cornicello."

Starsky shook his head forcefully. "Naw, Hutch, it's _horn_icello."

Hutch guffawed. "I think you misheard whoever told you that."

"Huggy called it that corny-jello name, but it don't fit. Ya see, Hutch, this is also known as an Italian _horn_. And it's also a symbol of manly, uh, vigor. Hence, its real name is _horn_icello. And if it ain't, it oughta be." Starsky's eyebrows waggled energetically.

Hutch smiled at Starsky's unassailable logic. His fabricated name made more sense than the actual name. "You might be on to something there, partner," he said evenly before yielding to another burst of laughter, which sparked the same in Starsky.

When they'd finally settled down, Hutch asked as he traced the outline of the bird medallion, "Why a bird, Starsk? It's kinda... girly, don'tcha think?"

"On the _canary_, my fine feathered fellow." Hutch ignored the obvious play on words. "We're kinda like spies when we go undercover, right?" Hutch shrugged a less than enthusiastic agreement. "And we're playin' the bad guys. Now, what bad guys do you know are associated with a particular kind of bird?"

Hutch's brow furrowed in thought for a few moments, then his eyes widened when he had the answer. "You've been watching _Man from U.N.C.L.E._ reruns late at night, haven't you?"

Starsky smiled happily, with a trace of slyness. "One of these days, old man, you'll make a fine secret agent!"

"Gee, thanks, Mr. Waverly." With that, they both erupted in peals of laughter, this time needing to hold to each up.

Once recovered from their latest fit, they resumed their positions in front of the mirror. Hutch fingered the two-headed emblem at the base of Starsky's throat. "And this has a special meaning too, I take it?"

"Certainly, Stanley," Starsky said in a passable impersonation of Oliver Hardy, then abruptly turned serious. "It's us," he said softly, not quite a whisper. "See the gold on top of the heads? That's like, uh, the stuff on top of helmets worn by Spartans or gladiator types. And that's us. Warriors on the street, together protecting and serving, 'cause two are better than one."

Not for the first time, Starsky impressed Hutch with his thoughtfulness, of the importance of symbolism in his life. So few people knew this side of him, and Hutch felt privileged to be one of them.

"Together, we are better, partner. Me and thee."

"Always." Starsky took a deep breath. "Time to get back to developing our characters and coming up with a plan and contingencies?"

With that, Hutch laid his left hand over Starsky's belly and rested his chin on his shoulder.

"Hey, my blond beauty, whatsa matter? That glum-y look on your face is makin' me rethink the beauty part."

Hutch snorted. "Starsky, I'm... afraid."

"Me, too, and that's a good thing, Hutch. Keeps us sharp."

"No, not in that way. Well, yes, in that way, but another way, too." Hutch paused for several breaths and watched the concern on Starsky's face grow. "I don't think I can go through with this operation."

"Spill the beans, babe. We gotta work this out _now_."

He looked away from the dark blue eyes that were doing too good a job at reading him. "I'm scared I'll be tempted. Hell, I'm scared I'll actually rip open that key right then and there and snort that shit. I'm afraid it's bait for a starving fish and that fish is me."

Starsky turned without warning to face Hutch, in the process jarring Hutch's teeth and temporarily flinging Hutch's arm in an unnatural way. Starsky then clasped Hutch's upper arms in his strong hands. His grip compelled Hutch to look at him again.

"Don't _say_ that, partner. Don't even _think_ it. I know it's only been a few weeks, but this won't be our first smack bust since then. You're _strong_. You weren't tempted then and you won't be this time or any _other_ time, _ever_."

"This time is different, Starsky. This time, we're out there alone, undercover."

"Dammit, Hutch, we're _not_ alone! We have each other."

"Okay, I'll grant you that, Starsk. But what if we're asked to use that shit to seal the deal? You know, build some sort of... sick camaraderie. Those who shoot up together can trust each other, because only cops won't shoot up."

"Then we tell 'em we're too smart to use the product 'cause we gotta keep our act together or the big boss will deep-six us permanently." Starsky paused, then said, tightening his grip, "You can _do_ this, Hutch. _We_ can do this."

"Okay, we turn 'em down and don't use. Now what if they won't sell? What then? Agree anyway just to prove we aren't cops or walk away and let someone else buy that crap to sell to kids?"

"We still say no and you finesse 'em with the words you always have ready." Starsky sighed loudly. "Hutch, you're overthinking this."

Hutch stared deeply into Starsky's eyes, hoping to find answers, any answer. He didn't find answers, just strength and loyalty and unwavering confidence in him that he seemed to absorb through Starsky's hands and sheer force of will. "You're right, Gordo. But I'm also afraid of losing control and beating the crap outta the dealers. If I start something like that, I don't think I can stop until it's too late."

"Lookit, babe, how many times have you pulled me offa some perp, huh? Remember that rapist I was determined to turn into mincemeat but you stopped me before I could even cut him up into steaks?"

Hutch nodded at the memory of that incident that occurred in the first months of their partnership as detectives. At the time, he hadn't understood the fury behind Starsky's attack on the perp, frightening him so much that he considered ending their relationship on all levels. Later Starsky told him of a first cousin, a girl of fourteen, who'd been sexually assaulted and maimed, leaving her blind, deaf, and pregnant. Hutch had admitted he admired Starsky's restraint.

"If you start somethin', _anything_, Hutch, I got your back. I'll be there like you were for me, 'kay?"

Hutch soaked up more of Starsky's faith and trust in him, in _them_. Now he was certain he could—and would—handle this personally precarious situation with aplomb. Together, they would handle anything that came their way.

Hutch responded with a look that said, _I know, and I can do this, and thanks_.

"Good! Now that that's settled, I got somethin' for ya." Starsky patted both of Hutch's cheeks and headed for the kitchen. He returned with a small florist box. "Here. Something for your lapel."

Hutch, knowing Starsky, knew what was in the box even before he opened it. "Starsk, I can't believe you. A rose? You expect me to wear a _rose_?"

"Not just any rose, babe. A _yellow_ rose. As in Texas?"

Hutch almost grinned at Starsky's earnestness in explaining the flower, but he didn't want to encourage him. "What self-respecting drug dealer wears a flower—of _any_ kind—in his lapel?"

"First off, drug dealers don't respect themselves. It's in the definition. Second, how do you know there aren't pushers who wear flowers?"

"Okay, you could be right, but I doubt it."

"And third, it could be your... trademark. You know, somethin' that sets you apart from other low lives."

Hutch suppressed a laugh in deference to Starsky's sincerity. "Starsk, partner, _buddy_, I appreciate the gesture, but I'm not gonna wear this in my lapel. Besides, there's no buttonhole I can put it in."

Starsky's disappointment looked genuine, making Hutch's chest tighten a little. There was an uncomfortable pause before Starsky spoke.

"You got a point, Hutch." Then Hutch noticed a subtle change to impish in Starsky's expression as he said, "How 'bout wearing it over your ear instead, huh?"

Hutch laughed out loud. "You goofball. Now try on your shoes, make sure they fit."

One side of Starsky's mouth curled into a sneer. "Don't wanna. They look... cruel. Like some kinda torture device."

Hutch rolled his eyes. "Starsk, I promise they're your size. And lots of people are wearing this style so they can't be that uncomfortable."

"Yeah, but I'm not 'lots of people.'"

Hutch punched an exasperated breath through his nose. "Ain't that the truth. Just go try the damn things on, will ya?"

"Okay, okay, don't get your neckerchief all in a bunch, bronco." Starsky sat on the sofa and extracted one platform shoe from the open box. "Got a question for ya, babe."

"Yeah?"

"Which one am I again? Rafferty or O'Brien?"

the end

November 2019


End file.
